


No Second Thoughts on St. Valentine

by Katey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katey/pseuds/Katey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Imagine it's Valentine's Day and you get a gift. Or two.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Second Thoughts on St. Valentine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penumbra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penumbra/gifts).



> Part of a little private Valentine exchange on tumblr.  
>  _"How about sweet kisses and it being cold outside or something"_ \- [anotherwellkeptsecret](http://anotherwellkeptsecret.tumblr.com/)  
>  I tried. But in the end the boys took the idea and ran away with it - as usual. ;)

In hindsight John hadn’t thought about whom he was speaking to once he’d asked an innocent ‘Got any gifts for today?’ question when he emerged from his usual morning routine, his brain still a bit fuzzy from a good night's sleep.

“I thought I made my point as clear as possible. Valentine’s Day, obviously invented by people with a dangerous abundance of sentiment and guilt, is nothing but a concept of consumption and deception to get people to buy expensive gifts, let them dive head first into arguments over said gifts and inevitably buy more gifts as apologies.” Sherlock barely raised his eyes from the microscope on the kitchen table during his dismissive monologue. “I honestly don’t see why I should participate in such a futile festivity.”

“I have a reason for you.” John leaned against the kitchen counter, not very impressed by Sherlock’s outburst. “As well as a gift. And I don’t think you’ll give me much of an argument over it.”

“Go on, then! You are free to try, but don’t tell me afterwards I didn’t…” Sherlock was cut off by a small parcel flying in his direction, impeccably aimed towards his face by a steady hand. Apparently John had had the flat box of approximately the size of an envelope in the pocket of his cardigan the whole time.

“I don’t think you ever got something for this day,” John sighed quietly, more to himself. “I sent a card to Molly and brought Mrs. Hudson some new tea, so I thought it might be appropriate to get you something as well. As a friend. Like for the others. Not anything... You know, just open it,” he added quickly.

Sherlock kept on shooting mildly confused glances at John while listening to only the half of his little speech, but finally his curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box with swift movements. His eyes widened at the sight of the letter and the business card inside. “’Dear Mr. Holmes… Would be delighted to show you around…’ John, what is this?”

“Brushed up on your mythology since Janus Cars?” The blank stare John received in return was a very plain answer. “St. Valentine. The whole thing about marrying soldiers off, yeah, rather common knowledge. But you know what the nice thing about saints is?” John couldn’t keep the smile from his lips at the sight of obvious confusion on Sherlock’s face. “Most of the time they’re patron saints of more than one thing. And our beloved, consumption-riddled St. Valentine happens to be the patron saint of the beekeepers.”

“So…”

“So I’m not entirely stupid, you know? I have noticed some of your books and the pictures of bees in your bedroom when the door was open. I got you an invitation to a private tour with a bloke I know from my army days. He’s keeping bees now, somewhere in the country near Sussex. There won’t be other people that day so you can’t annoy anyone with your desire for knowledge and your rapid questions. He likes to talk about bees for days on end and usually has no real opportunity to do so. Might even give you a honey tasting if you behave and don’t set anything on...”

John was cut off mid-sentence when a clearly agitated Sherlock lounged from his chair to plant a firm kiss on his mouth. He whirled away just as fast, leaving John dumbfounded and more than just a bit confused. “What…”

“You gave me a present for Valentine’s Day, a very thoughtful one. That’s the common response, if I’m not entirely mistaken, isn’t it?”

“Not the one Mrs. Hudson gave me, that’s for sure,” John said with some kind of a shocked smile frozen on his face. He couldn’t move. It wasn’t just his smile that was frozen in place – his whole body seemed to have lost connection to his brain. To be honest, said brain didn’t deliver some intelligent response as well. He could only stare, mildly unfocused, and try to keep his fingers from touching his lips.

“Oh.” Sherlock stopped right in front of his chair, face suddenly rid of the gleeful joy and unreadable again. “Did I…”

“… No.”

“You don’t even know what I…”

“I know what you wanted to say.” Recognizing Sherlock’s moods in tiny twitches of brow and mouth had become John’s second nature over the time they had spent together. Reading the intention in his actions was another issue, even when he was utterly confused himself. “You… didn’t do anything wrong,” he added carefully with just a hint of desperation.

This was Sherlock. He’d lived with him for some time now, witnessed (and mourned) his death, saw him coming back from the dead, was still without any knowledge of the exact events of their two years apart… But it was Sherlock. The center of the hurricane that was the life with him, his fix point in time and space. The one person he always gravitated towards. If he’d had any second thoughts about giving a gift to him on the most romantic day of the year, it certainly was too late now. Speaking of ‘too late’, how the bloody hell had his feet dragged him right in front of…?

“John? Is everything alright?”

Desperation welled up once again and was immediately knocked down by some sensation of lucidity upon the strangely hopeful glance he got. “Shut up. For once in your life… Just shut up.”

 -

 Kissing his best friend on Valentine’s Day right in front of the crackling fireplace, too many emotions in their movements, snow blurring the city of London outside, turned out to be exactly the kind of gift both of them had craved the most – and acknowledged the least.


End file.
